Secret Chapter - The Detective's New Partner
by ThePeriwinkleWitch
Summary: [Companion Piece for Nick Valentine / Also published on Wattpad. Please follow me there as well.] Sole Survivor Nora has to find some things to do while she waits on Sturges to finish building the transporter to the Institute. Turns out, she makes a pretty good cop. (Rated T for foul language and graphic violence.)


Secret Chapter: The Detective's New Partner

[A Companion Piece for Nick Valentine]

The dusty old trench coat and worn out fedora getup wasn't my style. Not at all. But Nick and Ellie made it sound necessary to the job. I had often wondered if they just told me that to fuck with me. I fidgeted with the tie on my neck. It wasn't getting anymore comfortable.

The first real case I solved was the one about the facial reconstruction surgion in Diamond City who had accidentally botched up a proceedure and lost his mind afterward. Turned out he was hacking up the body of the innocent patient, trying to "fix him." When I talked Doc Crocker into lowering his gun from us, he injected himself with enough psycho to kill him. Needless to say, we had a burial instead of an occupied jail cell.

Nick was impressed with my work nonetheless and paid me a handful of caps. That's when he started taking Ellie's request to train me to be his partner more seriously. He had me to pick up on a few more cases with him, so here I was, wandering around looking for clues like some private eye. The whole point of me helping Nick out was because I was waiting on the Molecular Relay to be built back at Sanctuary. Sturges was hard at work on it.

This case was about someone named Marty Bullfinch. Ellie gave me the holotape that they received from this Marty and had me to listen to it in the office. I popped it in the tape player in my pip-boy and set back in the chair in front of Ellie's desk.

 _"Nicky, you old bucket of bolts, it's Marty."_ The voice was cracked and rough, much like that of a ghoul's. _"I know it's been a while, but I came across a little mystery I thought might get your circuits firing. You remember that ugly grasshopper statue on the top of Fanheuil Hall? Turns out it's got a note in it. A note written by the son of one Shem Drowne. I don't expect that name means anything to you, but the guy was a coppersmith way back when folks did shit like that. Apparently, this note leads straight to the old guy's stash. I don't know what's in it, but I'd sure like to know if it's still there. I'm gonna go do a little recon on the Hall. If you decide you wanna get the team back together, you let me know."_

After asking Ellie a few questions on the case, she informed me that Marty used to be Nick's old partner. They didn't part on good terms. For Marty to contact Nick at all, it must have been something big. Marty believed that there was a treasure map hidden in the Gilded Grasshopper on top of Faneuil Hall.

So that's where we were headed.

Faneuil Hall was somewhere between Goodneighbor and the Railroad's hideout. It was easy to find if you followed the Freedom Trail, starting at Goodneighbor's doors. The only problem was that it was crawling with super mutants.

"Ah, Faneuil Hall," said Nick as we overlooked it from an alley across the way. "Cradle of liberty turned to slaughterhouse."

"I say we do some slaughtering of our own," I said, cocking my pistol.

He nodded.

We worked on getting rid of the super mutants outside, then slowly forced our way inside. Mutant hounds charged us, but we made quick work of the dumb brutes. We finally reached the top of the building.

"Goodness. Did Marty really try to get through all this on his own?" Nick sighed.

"I wonder if he made it."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

We climbed a ladder to the roof of the building. We had spoke too soon. There was Marty's dead body lying on the roof.

"Hmm. Guess Marty didn't quite make it." He knelt down by the corpse and whispered softly, "Don't worry pal. We'll close this one out for ya."

I patted Nick's shoulder. "We will."

We turned our attention to the makeshift ramps and railings going across the roof of the builing. Beer bottles were strewn across. I knocked one off the roof with my shoe. It landed on the pavement below with a light crash and shattered glass. I stopped dead in my tracks, fingers crossed that a super mutant didn't hear it. When we didn't hear any gruff, dumb-sounding voices, we continued to search the area. There were some bullets in the tool box sitting on the table, and I helped myself to them. Nick pocketed a pack of cigarettes there.

Further down the top of the roof, we could see a large, yellow, rounded piece of the roof. It was a dome-like structure that sat on the top of the building like a church's steeple. On the long antennae-like pole reaching out from the center of it was the Gilded Grasshopper – the one Marty was after all along.

It was an ugly-looking grasshopper. It yielded no antannae, had six legs, a long golden body, and a frown for a mouth. I took it down from its perch. Nick and I inspected it and found an opening on it's stomach where it had connected to the dome. It was a letter, old and tattered, but still legible.

 _"Shem Drowne made it, May 25, 1742._

 _"To my brethren and fellow grasshoppers, Fell in ye year 1753 (1755) Nov. 13, early in ye morning by a great earthquake by my old Master above._

 _"Again, like to have met with Uter Ruin by Fire, by hopping Timely from my Public Station, came of the broken bones and much Bruised._

 _"Cured and Fixed._

 _"Old Master's son Thomas drowne June 28, 1768, and Though I will promoise to Discharge my office, yet I shall vary as ye wind._

 _"On the banks of the Charles, where forever rests Master Shem, there one can find a life's worth."_

"This letter is old as shit . . ."

"Well, this 'old as shit' letter is the key to finding that treasure," Nick retorted. "It says here that Shem was buried somewhere on the bank of the Charles River. Hmm . . ."

"Well, I guess we'll head there next. Anything specific we should be looking for?"

"Yeah, a grave marker, with any luck."

He sounded doubtful. Putting aside the fact that the grave could be unmarked, the war had taken many things, including buildings and major landmarks. Who's to say that the grave's marker was still there?

Regardless, we made our way toward the Charles River. We followed the main highway and passed the creepy-ass Pickman Gallery. There, with a decent view of the river, was a graveyard. It was small, but mostly intact. We searched for Shem's grave, and we were relieved when we found it.

"I'm not one for looting graves, but, uh . . ."

"I've done worse," I shrugged. I started searching for a shovel and found one by the old tree. It was rickety and falling apart, but it would do for the one job.

When it was all dug up, we looked upon the remains of Shem Drowne's body; it was a clean off-white skeleton. Oddly enough there were no clothes, but inside the grave with him lay an authentic sword, a letter, three bars of copper, and one bar of gold.

"So, I guess Shem Drowne had himself buried with all his treasure. Guess some people just can't let go," Nick said coolly.

I picked up the letter and read it.

 _"Fear not._

 _"Though Devil's iron makes this Blade, only he who Wields it can make it Wicked._

 _"-Drowne"_

I picked up he three heavy bars of copper and the bar of gold and put them in my bag and slung it over my back. I also took the sword.

Nick shook his head at me.

I shrugged. "Hey, he hasn't been using it for, like, five-hundred years."

"Hey, let me ask you something." He went all serious, and I didn't like it when he went all serious.

"Is something wrong?"

"Well, I sorta had the same question."

"Look, I'll put it back if you want – "

"No, no. It's just, with everything that's happened with you, your family . . . It's a whole hell of a lot to process. I wanted to make sure you were holding up alright."

My eyes softened on him and I gave him a smile. "Yeah. I'm alright."

"Huh. You're a tougher nut than I thought. Tougher than I was. Took me a long damn time to get a feel for this place. Thank goodness I found Diamond City. It's got its flaws, sure, but it beats the hell out of anywhere else in the Commonwealth. Course, when I took up there back when, people were just as scared of the Institute as they are now, maybe more."

I dragged the coffin lid back onto the top of the coffin. I had no intentions of burying him again, but I at least felt that he should have less exposure. I dusted my hands off and adjusted my bag on my back. "You made it work, though," I said.

"Yeah, but the massacre of the CPG was still pretty fresh in people's minds at that point, and folks were still losing sleep over the Broken Mask. Plenty of people thought that I was just a saboteur, moving in to melt down the reactor or poison the drinking water. But, at the time, they couldn't exactly turn me away."

"Massacre of the CPG? What's that?"

"The Commonwealth Provisional Government. Years back, a group of settlements tried to get together and form a coalition. Every settlement with even a hint of clout sent representatives to try and hash out an agreement. Only the Institute sent a representative of their own: a synth. The man killed every rep at the talks. The CPG was over before it even got off the ground. I took up in town not long after. I was damn lucky they didn't tell me to scram right then and there."

"And the, what did you say, Broken Mask?"

"This was long before I'd moved to town, but apparently some gentleman-type shows up in Diamond City, heads down to Power Noodles. Guess he didn't like the food, because he pulled his pistol and open-fired on the folks enjoying theirs. When security finally put enough holes in him to drop him, they say he was full of servos and sprockets, just like yours truly. Seems he malfunctioned, went berserk. It was the first time people realized that synths stopped looking like me and started looking like them."

Nick turned and I walked with him absently back toward the road. It was getting uncomfortable talking over an open grave.

"Considering what these folks went through," he continued, "I was lucky they even let me through the front gate at all."

I nodded. "Makes me wonder, though: why'd they let you in?"

"Because I'd rescued the mayor's daughter. Gal of about fifteen, pride and joy of the mayor back then, man by the name of Henry Roberts. The young Miss Roberts decided that she'd run off with some caravan hand she'd, ahem, known for an evening. Turns out the guy was part of a gang of kidnappers. I didn't even know who I was rescuing, I just stumbled on a crying girl and four toughs. I took her home, and the mayor dubbed me a hero, offered me a place in town. Lots of folks protested, said I was a spy, but he wouldn't have it."

I chuckled.

"Taking up in the city was tricky at first, but I never tried to hide what I was and people seemed to warm to that."

"So, you took down four guys by yourself, huh?" I smirked.

He laughed. "Didn't have to. Back then, synths were even more of an unknown quantity than they are today. I told them I was rigged to explode and started going, 'beep, beep, beep.'"

I was laughing at this point, so hard my eyes teared up.

"Hardest part of that rescue was keeping from laughing as they climbed over each other to get away."

"I can imagine. Bet it was even harder settling in at Diamond City."

"They sure didn't make it easy."

We passed a car that had a frag mine underneat the tire, and I halted Nick beside me while I crouched down to disarm it and pocket it for myself.

"I started off doing the jobs that no one else wanted," he continued. "I got more banged up being Diamond City's handyman than I ever did living out in the ruins. But I guess folks never forgot that I'd rescued the mayor's daughter, so they started coming to me when people went missing. Wife runs off with a new paramour and takes the rent money with her? Talk to the synth. An upset father decides moving him and the kids to Goodneighbor in the dead of night's not the worst damn idea since the bomb? Go get Nick. After a while, the jobs got so backed up, they didn't even ask me to do the handyman stuff anymore. Hell, I was so happy to do it, it was months before I started charging anyone. I never stopped being Nick the synth, but it was Nick the detective folks came to see. It was about then that things finally started feeling normal. It took me a long time to realize that home is where you make it. With some time and effort, this place can be home to you, too."

I nodded with a smile. That was the idea – making a home out of . . . whatever this was. The wasteland, the end of the world, the shadow of what was. Somehow, I wanted to make it a home for me and Shaun.

"Long story, but I hope it helps." He tipped his hat with a smile. "Now, let's get back to the office. Ellie's gonna want to hear about our findings."

"Well, look who's back? How did things turn out with Marty?"

"Not great," Nick answered.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Was he drunk?"

"Dead. He made it all the way through Faneuil Hall, too. Went out like a champ."

I shut the door behind me and put my hands in my trench coat pockets.

"No foolin'?" she asked, crossing her arms. She was impressed, but not so surprised to find that he was dead. "Our Marty made it through Faneuil Hall. Never knew he had it in him . . . Well, good for him. I just can't believe he made it all the way to the Grasshopper. Seems I never gave him enough credit."

She sat down at her desk and started writing things down on a paper that she later tucked away in a folder. Nick sat at his desk for a smoke.

I waved to them and told them I was headed to the Dugout Inn for a rest, and I'd see them bright and early in the morning.

The guards had seemed to have taken a liking to me since I had paired up with Nick to do cases. I wasn't sure if they took me seriously, what with the fedora and trench coat getup, but they liked Nick, so that was good enough for me. Sometimes guards would say things like, "You takin' up with Nicky? Good for you. He's good people. Ah, you know what I mean." And, "Got our eyes on you. Even if you are pallin' around with Nick Valentine."

I believe I also came off as a little more intimidating than Nick. Guards would also comment on my . . . artillary. "Geez, lady. I like guns, too. But don't you think you may be overcompensating?"

I could understand that a lot of people still had a hard time figuring me out or understanding me. I was still trying to find myself, too. Though, I had noticed, as I gained my footing in this new and unforgiving world, I began to better myself as a survivor and as an oustanding citizen of the Commonwealth.

It felt good to kick off my boots and take off my hat at the Dugout Inn. The trench coat was keeping me warm in the cold weather at least. Yesif gave me room number two as usual. I laid my hat on the table, hung my trench coat on the bed post, and threw my shoes under the bed.

I laid my new sword with my hat. It was a true marvel. A piece of history, untouched by time. It was going in my house at Sanctuary for sure. I'd need to find or build a case for it. I'd have felt better not using it in battle if I could have helped it. Bringing a sword to a gunfight wasn't the best idea.

Though that didn't stop Hancock from bringing a knife to any fight. He was so good with his knife. I had thought about asking him to teach me, but I always got these stupid butterflies in my stomach, and my words got caught in my throat. _What's the matter with me?_ I'd always ask myself. I was twenty-five years old, I wasn't supposed to be acting like that. Correction, over two-hundred thirty-five years old. Besides, he was a ghoul. It's not like . . .

I just stopped right there before I let my mind wander too far. I sat on the edge of the bed, fluffed up my pillow, and laid down to sleep.

The next morning, Nick was sitting at his desk in the office as usual.

"Ready to make our rounds?" he asked.

I nodded. Nick and I made a few rounds around Diamond City every so often to see if we could catch onto any problems that Diamond City guards weren't paying attention to. Nick was always willing to help any citizen that asked, even if it was helping a mother find their daughter if she's been out playing too late, or a man who lost his prized pocket watch. Nick never usually asked for anything in return, unless it was a life-threatening case.

When we were done with our rounds, we stopped by Nakahashi's Noodles, and Nick bought me a steaming hot bowl.

"What's the occassion?" I asked, taking a seat.

"I just think we ought to talk."

"Is something the matter? You sound upset?"

"What? Oh, no, no. We've just been traveling a while now and I figured there hasn't exactly been equitable distribution of information. I've gotten a decent glimpse into your 'dirty laundry,' but you still don't really know a whole heck of a lot about me. I figured I'd offer to balance the board. So, there anything you wanna know?" He pulled a cigarette pack and a flip lighter from his right trench coat pocket.

I smiled. "Okay. This is the perfect opportunity for me to ask . . . What's with the outfit?"

He chuckled. "After I started the agency, it just seemed like the sort of thing a detective ought to wear. I got some old memories, prewar, faded to all heck, of guys dressed like this, doin' what I do." He lit a cigarette and returned the lighter and pack to his pocket. "Puttin' on the hat and trench coat, I figured it was let folks know I was serious about the whole thing. 'Clothes make the man,' and all that. Guess I felt they made me the man I wanted to be."

I nodded. "I guess I can understand that."

"Anything else?"

"So . . . what do you remember? About the Institute?"

He sighed and tipped his hat back a little. "It's all pretty hazy from back then, but now and then I get glimpses. Life inside the Institute . . . they keep you isolated."

I slurped up some of the piping hot noodles. It tasted like Heaven.

"A single test chamber was my whole world for years. And someone was always watching. Then one day you wake up on the other side. And that's it. They've cut you loose. Welcome to the Brave New World . . . with such people in it."

That brought me to my last question. "So, who are you, Nick?"

"That's a question I've been trying to figure out myself for a long damn time." He took another long drag of his cigarette. "I know I'm a synth, authentic Institute handiwork. But I'm still mechanical, not bioengineered like the fancy synths giving everyone the willies these days. I get tune-ups instead of check-ups. But my memories, my personality, they're all lifted from some cop who volunteered for an experiment back before the war. They scanned his brain and copied it onto the hardware that runs between my ears. Don't know why they chose to make a robot based on some prewar cop instead of a math genius or a bioengineer. But hey, maybe that's why the Institute tossed me in the garbage instead of turning me into one of their people-snatchers."

"A cop before the war? So, the original Nick was from my time?"

"Sure was. Which meant, when I finally ended up out here, it was quite the rude awakening. I remember waking up in a garbage heap, body in tatters, and a head full of memories belonging to a man who'd been dead for two-hundred years. Suffice to say, it was a shock. Folks didn't really know much about synths back then, so when I finally ran into people, they mostly treated me with caution rather than hostility. But the kids, they weren't afraid."

I smiled warmly at him when he said that. His expression softened at the fond memory of all the accepting, curious children.

"I think his name was . . . Jim," he recalled with a smile. "The first person to actually speak to me after I got the boot from the Institute. My first human contact in this world. Kid grilled me for an hour. Once they'd seen I wasn't going to hurt anyone, the other folks in the neighborhood came out of their homes to ogle the mechanical man. It eventually turned into a pretty swell soiree. Local mechanic even gave me a once-over, free of charge. Those people, they treated me like a human being. I've been trying to return the favor ever since. It's a surprisingly rare trait out here sometimes. Something I've noticed you've got a fondness for." He shook a mechanical finger at me with a grin. "Part of the reason I've stuck around this long."

I shook my head. Whether it was low self-esteem or just a practical sense of right and wrong, I felt that I didn't go above and beyond for anyone. "I do what's needed."

"Well, you seem to judge 'doing good' pretty high on your list of necessities."

I hadn't thought of it that way before. Was I really that much of a do-gooder?

"Well, I expect you're about as bored as can be listening to me rattle my skeletons. We should probably head out."

I slurped down the rest of the soup from the noodle bowl. "And go where, exactly?"

"Back to the office. I've got a special job for you . . ."

"Okay, what's this special job?" I asked. Ellie wasn't in the office. She was gone to lunch. So it was just me and Nick in the agency. I sat at Ellie's desk while Nick sat at his. He turned his chair toward me, put his elbows on his knees, and his fingertips together.

"I wouldn't normally bother you with this sort of thing, but . . . well, I know I can trust you at this point. For as long as I can remember, I've been getting these . . . flashes. Memories of places I've never been. Things I've never seen. Memories of Nick's. They're not bad. They're just . . . They're just this inescapable reminder. That I'm not the person I think I am. I'm not a person at all. I'm just a machine pretending to be human."

My brow furrowed. "That's not true!. You're just as much a person as me or Ellie. You think. You feel. You're more than just pretending, Nick."

"Eh, it's nice of you to say, but your kind doesn't usually have to deal with someone else's whole life trapped inside their skulls. Don't get me wrong. I know I'm in Nick's debt. These memories, they've kept me alive. Nick was a hell of a cop, a guy with good instincts, and a good heart. I always counted myself lucky that they didn't load me up with some ex-con or whatever type might volunteer to let folks tinker with their grey matter. But it's thanks to Nick that I pass for human. Why I get to live cushy in Diamond City and every other synth is shot on sight. I know I got it good, but . . . my entire life I owe to Nick. Everything that makes me who I am – my judgement, my speech, hell, even my name – they're his. And I can't do a damn thing about it, because without them . . . without them, I'm nothing. A shell. All I want is a life where I can have something I can call my own."

"Is there any way we can seperate you and Nick?"

"Don't think I haven't tried. Lost nearly a month of my life last time I mustered up the courage to let someone play brain surgeon on me. No, this is how it's gonna be. Living with another man's name, another man's life . . ."

"You've already built a life for yourself, Nick. You've got the agency. A home. Friends."

"Heh. I mean, you're not wrong . . . You know, I'm just gonna need some time to think on this. I appreciate you hearing me out. You're a real good friend. Thanks."

"So, what did all this have to do with the special job?"

"Ah, well. You know, there is this chunk of Valentine history I'd been hoping to put a bow on for a while now. I could use a hand if you're willing to take a crack at it."

"What kind of history are we talking about here?"

"This one is straight out of the archives. Once upon a time in the land of Boston, there lived a king of organized crime. Eddie Winter. He was a bad man who did a lot of bad things. Hurt a lot of innocent people. But he knew the end was coming. So he sealed himself inside a personal shelter, underneath a sub shop he used as a headquarters."

Eddie Winter? I had heard of that name before, a long time ago, on the news. "I remember him. He was from my time. A real scumbag."

"The story gets even more twisted." He leaned back in his chair and put his cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk. "The arrogant bastard wanted to cheat death. Live forever. So he could come out of that shelter some day into this brave new world. Sound familiar?"

I winced.

"Only Eddie didn't wanna be a frozen banana. No cryo sleep for him. No, he invested his money in some sick, crazy radiation experiement."

I shook my head. "You've really done your homework on this guy."

"I have. And uncovered a doozy. Eddie Winter went and turned himself into a ghoul, two-hundred years years before it was fashionable. Hell, he was probably the first one. And I'm convinced that he's still locked inside that shelter. Safe and sound. Ready to come out, and begin his evil reign all over again. I'm going to find him, and kill him, so that never happens. You in?"

"Wait. I don't get it, Nick. Why kill Eddie Winter, even if he is still alive? This sounds like some kind of vendetta. It . . . doesn't sound like something you'd do . . ."

"I've got memories. Of a . . . a girl. My girl." He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "They're not really my memories, I know that. They're Nick's. But the girl . . . she was real. She was beautiful, and innocent . . . and Winter killed her. And now he's got to pay the price. So, knowing that, you in?"

I could understand better now what he wanted with Eddie. I could almost feel his anger toward him, even if he wasn't really in love with this girl – or the memory of this girl. Nick was a man of justice. And Nick, the real Nick, would have wanted justice. I want justice for my husband as well . . .

"Alright, Nick. Let's get the bad guy."

"Good. Now, I know where Winter's vault is, but the door is sealed with a complex numerical code. Lucky for us, Winter's arrogance knows no bounds. Back in the day, he recorded ten holotapes, incriminating different criminal associates. On each one, he hid a single number. We find all of those holotapes, we get all the numbers. We get all the numbers, we get the code. And then we get Winter. I've been putting together a file on this one for a while now. There's a pair of holotapes in here worth listening to. Including one of Winter's that I managed to snatch from the Cambridge Police evidence lock-up before getting swarmed by ferals. On my way out the door, I spotted an inactive evidence terminal. I'll bet my hat that terminal's the key to finding the rest of the tapes. Probably worth visiting any police departments we may come across out there."

"Gotcha."

He handed me the folder and the holotapes. I read the folder, listened to each tape, took mental notes, anything I could do to memorize and understand the situation. This case was obviously important to Nick. I wouldn't let him down.

In the folder were a few tattered papers; he'd clearly been keeping this file for quite some time now. I laid it out on the desk and read them.

 _Case: Eddie Winter_

 _Self-inflicted ghoul, criminal kingpin_

 _Age: 200+_

 _Offenses: Too many to count_

 _Location:_

 _-Underground bunker, Andrew Station, sealed with a ten digit code_

 _The holotapes:_

 _-Holotapes hold the key to Winter's bunker._

 _-Each tape has one piece of the entry code_

 _-Ten tapes total (nine left)_

 _-Cambridge Police evidence terminal, best lead for finding other tapes_

 _-Possible remaining holotape locations: Commonwealth Police departments, BADTFL HQ_

After reading the file, I listened to the first holotape, labeled "Welcome Home!"

 _"Detective Valentine – Captain Widmark here. I'd just like to re-iterate how excited we here at the Boston Police Department are that you'll be joining our investigations. Commissioner - has already regaled you with tales of your adventures in Chicago. As you know, Edward L. "Eddie" Winter has been a pox on this beautiful city for nearly two decades. Extortion, murder, kidnapping, racketeering – name a crime, he's committed it. The epitome of a cold-blodded, brilliant, slippery crime boss. Fortunately for us, over the years, Winter has also developed that most self-destructive of character traits – supreme arrogance. Starting a little over a year ago, Winter stopped coding his correspondences and began communicating entirely via unencrypted holotape. Each one directed to a subject in question and very clearly signed off by Winter himself. He's obviously mocking the authorities. He knows we're monitoring his communications. He doesn't care. Winter thinks he's untouchable. He's wrong. This is when the game changes. Those holotapes are the key to building a case against Eddie Winter, and they're what this task force needs. His crimes, his words. Total self-incrimination. Get those tapes, and we get Winter."_

I had no idea that the authorities were taking the Eddie Winter case so seriously back in my day. I knew he was a king in the crime industry, but he was at large for so long, it seemed like the law inforcement was almost ignoring him. In truth, he was just really good at covering his tracks. He was a menace to our community. When people disappeared, when people wound up dead, when banks were robbed, everyone blamed Eddie. And each time, Eddie slipped through their fingers.

I played the last tape in my pipboy and listened. It was labeled "#1." This time, it was Eddie speaking.

 _"Message to Marty Montrano – Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. You fat, lazy piece of shit. I knew, I KNEW this arrangement was too good to be true. Let's join forces with the North End! Bury the hatchet, work mutually against a common enemy! Well you pulled a nail in that coffin, huh, boy-o? What did you have to do, Johnny? Huh? What was your job? Sit in your car, on the corner. Keep your eyes open. If you see a uniform, you get out, you walk down the street, knock on the door, and let the fellas know there's trouble coming. Easy as pie, right? I coulda got a 9-year-old from the projects to do it. In the interest of Irish/Italian relations, I give the job to you. So what happens? Nothing. Nothing happens. You sit on your fat dribbling canoli cream onto your third chin. You watch. You WATCH the uniform blow months of planning, all in two minutes. Congratulations, Johnny. You got me. You and your pals sure put the screws to old Eddie Winter. You should tell this funny story to your little girl, when you tuck her in at night. In that corner bedroom, upstairs, pink wallpaper, little house on Prince Street. Ha ha. Eddie Winter, signing off."_

I could feel my face contorting into something of terror and disgust at his last words. Would he really kill a little girl to get back at an old associate? He was worse than I thought. I looked back at Nick, who sat in silence with a somber expression.

"I don't know how many times I've listened to those tapes," he muttered. "Ten? Twenty? A hundred? And I'm no closer to finding him than I was when I first found the damn things."

I remembered the number I heard in the tape. "So, the first tape has a 9 in it. That's a start."

He nodded. "So you're up for a little scavenger hunt?"

"If you need help, I'm there."

We left the agency before Ellie even got back from lunch. Nick left a note on her desk.

The first place Nick wanted to check was the closest to Diamond City, but the furthest away from everything else. The Coast Guard Pier, a delapidated structure by the Charles River, not too far away from one of the bridges. It was just southwest of Diamond City. Unfortunately for us, it had been completely taken over by super mutants. It took a while to clear them out, because they had about three hounds with them that kept us from getting close to the building until we took them down.

Nick was happy that I was able to handle some super mutants better than the last time, back at Fort Hagen. I proved to be better at covering his ass this time, as well as my own.

We went through the main entrance on the first floor and worked our way up. There was no use in using the front door, though it was unlocked. A massive hole in the wall proved more welcoming. Once we cleaned house, we went back to the main floor and looked through the terminal on the desk.

"Jackpot," said Nick from the computer chair as his metal fingers tapped at the keyboard. "The locations of some of the Eddie Winter holotapes are listed here in the Winter Case File. Number three is in Quincy, number four at the Natick Police Department, and the ninth here in the Coast Guard safe."

I looked around the room and saw another terminal on the wall next to a security door. "That's gotta be our ticket to the safe," I pointed out.

I let Nick crack the lock on this terminal, because it seemed pretty complicated to me.

"These folks weren't playing around," he said when he failed on the first try. After another try, the door opened and we walked inside.

I picked up all the ammo on the way through the room. Electromagnetic cartridges, .48 rounds, plasma cartridges, .45 rounds – I packed it all up in my bag. I left the heavy rifles. Strewn on the floor were jars of buffout pills, a drug that the muscular types used to get an edge in hand-to-hand combat or heavy lifting. I put all of them in my bag.

"You don't plan on using those, do you?" Nick asked with a judgy tone.

"Of course not. I'm selling them."

He shrugged and checked the desk for anything useful. I picked the lock on two safes and took two cases of shotgun shells and 10mm rounds, but there was no sign of Eddie Winter's ninth holotape.

"Maybe this isn't the right room," he said.

We sent through a side door and upstairs. Behind a battered desk was another safe. I had my fingers crossed for this one. I picked the lock and found the holotape inside. I grabbed it and inserted it into my pipboy. It was labeled "#9."

"Message to Clair Pozinski. Time to start thinking about a vacation. How do 6 weeks in Ireland sound to you? Dublin, Galway Bay, Waterford. Maybe a week in that little bed and breakfast in Kilkenny? And no, don't worry, we don't have to take my cousin Steven with us. Let him get out of the country on his own. I told him to threaten that cop – not blast him in the face with a shotgun. He can rot in that abandoned fishery down at Union Warf, for all I care. Love you. Eddie Winter, singing off."

"So, Eddie had a girlfriend, a wife, or a mistress."

"Maybe all three," I said pointedly.

He snickered. "I wouldn't put it past him. So the number in this one was six." He took out a small pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket and wrote down some information. He read aloud as he wrote. "Number 1 – Nine. Number 9 – Six." Then he put it back in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and his lighter.

It went on like that for a while, long into the night. We searched high and low for Eddie Winter's holotapes. Each holotape was pretty much the same deal. We listened to Eddie's personal message to a conspiring criminal, wrote down the number for each one, and moved on to the next one, hacking terminals and picking locks as needed. We ran into raiders, super mutants, ghouls, you name it.

After we had collected about five tapes, I had to stop and rest. It was half past midnight and my legs couldn't carry me any further. We took shelter in an old abandoned building so that I could eat something and drink some water. Nick kept watch while I slept.

When I awoke, we immediately set out again. Nick was quiet the whole time. He wasn't very talkative. And usually he was at least making cheesy, humorless jokes.

I nudged him arm with my elbow. "Hey, you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm just focused I guess. We're so close to that rat bastard, I can smell him."

"You're sure this is something you're up for?"

He nodded. "I owe it to the real Nick to take this criminal out."

We went around collecting the rest of the holotapes. The Quincy offices proved to be most difficult. I used at least eight stimpaks while I was there. A particularly nasty group of Gunners took over the station, led by a lady that called herself Tressa. She didn't fight fair, to say the least. She had a great advantage on us because she wore salvaged and modded power armor. Luckily for us, a few well-placed plasma mines fucked up most of her armor and left a good opening for us to strike. It was the sheer number of them that almost got us killed.

We only had one tape left. One single tape. Nick was on edge. The suspense was killing him. We rested for a while, and the next morning after my breakfast, we headed back out again. The last place left was the Cambridge Police Station. Although, when we got there, we weren't expecting what happened next.

A small group of Brotherhood soldiers – one in power armor, one in an outfit similar to scavver gear, and one injured and in a tight orange and black jumpsuit that resembled my vault suit to an extent – were fighting a large group of feral ghouls that had swarmed them.

"You! Help us!" called the man in power armor. He didn't have a matching helmet on, which I thought was a stupid move. He had a broad jaw, short brown hair, and a scruffy unshaven face. He was fighting them off as best as he could with his fists and laser rifle, while the lady behind him covered for their injured comrade.

The station was swarmed within minutes. Nick and I hesitated for a moment, but decided we couldn't watch them be devoured by ravenous zombies, so we pitched in.

As soon as our guns fired, more ghouls were drawn to us from outside the makeshift walls that were built around the front of the police station.

"Shit," I muttered while I tried to reload my gun quickly. Nick covered for me. He smashed one's face in with the butt of his handgun. One was coming for me at full speed, and he threw himself in front of the blow.

"Ungh!" He grunted as the ghoul tore at his back, his arms covering me. I could hear the ghoul's nails scraping on his near-metal frame and clawing his trench coat to pieces. I was so nervous I almost dropped my bullet casing.

The Brotherhood soldier shot a laser in our direction and knocked the ghoul off of Nick's back. As soon as I was up, I pushed Nick aside so he could take a rest and took out the remaining ghouls.

Once it was quiet again, I rushed to his side and dropped to one knee. "Are you okay?"

He waved his hand at me passively. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine kid."

The sound of clanking power armor got steadily closer. I raised my attention to the man and his comrades. "We appreciate the assistance, civilian, but what's your business here?"

"I . . . was hoping to take a look at the evidence terminal in the police station."

He glanced at Nick with what I thought was disgust, then looked back at me curiously. "You know about the evidence terminal? Now how would a civilian like you come across information like that? Are you from a local settlement?"

I sighed. "Do all these questions really matter? After all, we just helped you fight those ferals."

"You make a fair point. If I appear suspicious, it's because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we've been constantly under fire. If you wanna continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side."

"Y-y-yea-a-ah, I'd like to help, but I don't like the secrecy . . . Who are you? Really?"

"Out with it," Nick chimed in.

"Very well. I'm Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there is Scribe Haylen, and Knight Rhys. I've been trying to send a distress call to our vessel in Boston International Airport, but the signal's not strong enough to reach."

I remembered what the blimp-sized aircraft looked like. I had seen it from the Castle. We had a clear view of it from it's walls . . . and a clear shot.

"Sir, if I may," said Scribe Haylen, the woman in light gear.

"Proceed, Haylen."

"I've modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I'm afraid it just isn't enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal."

"Our target is ArcJet Systems, and it contains the technology we need . . . the Deep Rnge Transmitter. We infultrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here. So, what do you say? You willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?"

"Not so fast. Just who is the Brotherhood? Why the name?"

"Our order seeks to understand the nature of technology. Its power. Its meaning to us as humans. And we fight to secure that power to those who would abuse it."

I snorted. "So, this is just a fancy way of saying that you're looting everything that you can get your hands on."

"'Looting' imlies that we are attempting to benefit ourselves. That couln't be further from the truth."

"Mhm . . ." I wasn't convinced just yet that the Brotherhood were the good guys. "And how do you think mankind abused technology?"

"Before the Great War, science and technology became more of a burden than a benefit. The atom bomb, bio-engineered plagues and FEV are clear examples of the horrors that technological advancement had wrought. We're here to make sure that never happens again."

He almost hit the nail on the head. Those were some good examples. The Brotherhood clearly had done their homework on prewar science and the mistakes that came with them. When he put it that way, maybe the Brotherhood wasn't so bad after all.

"The cause seems noble, I guess . . ."

"I'm pleased that you agree. There are very few outside the Brotherhood who appreciate the gravity of the situation we face as a species. So, what do you say? Will you help us?"

"Can't I just . . . peek at the terminal and be on my way?"

"The police station is our base of operations at the moment, citizen. I'd not let you inside until we know we can trust you. Hmm . . . I'll tell you what. Let's have a trade off. Help me get the Deep Range Transmitter, and we'll let you inside our headquarters. You can then check the terminal."

"Now, just a minute, bucko," said Nick, but I put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," I mouthed. I turned back to Danse. "How do you know we'll make it out of this ArcJet building alive?"

"I can assure you, I wouldn't undertake this mission unless I had confidence in your abilities."

"So I'm protecting the guy in the power armor?" I inquired. "That's not exactly believable."

"I'm afraid I don't have another suit to give you. Besides, only Brotherhood Paladins are issued a full suit of power armor. It would be against protocal to give a civilian a suit. So you're going to have to make due."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You've made it this far in a ratty trench coat; I'm sure you can manage."

I scoffed. "Fine. But you'd better let us in after I help you."

"Agreed." He returned to his companions and started going over a gameplan with them.

I pulled Nick aside.

"What the hell are you up to?" he asked.

I whispered to him. "I think we should just bide our time with the Brotherhood for now. I'd hate to kill all three of them after just saving their asses. Besides, maybe if things go well, the Minutemen could get their foot in the door with these guys. I represent them after all."

Nick sighed. "Fine. But I'm going with you."

"No, stay here. You need some rest after that fight. I owe you one, big time."

He was about to protest again when Danse addressed me.

"Alright, civilian, it's time to prove your worth."

"My name is 'Nora.' Not 'civilian.' Let's get this show on the road . . ."

I returned with a very happy Brotherhood soldier, and a large transmitter for their radio. After helping them out, they kept their word. Knight Rhys still didn't trust me, but I really didn't give a damn. Danse offered me a proposition that I hd to turn down, for the time being. We looked through the terminal and got the information we needed. Before we left, Danse even offered me some extra ammo and stimpaks. I noticed that he wouldn't speak to or look at Nick in the slightest. Neither did Rhys or Haylen.

When we left the station, Nick lit a cigarette and cursed them under his breath.

"Problem?"

"Those Brotherhood knuckleheads. They'd like to see people like me burn. Synths and ghouls alike. Anyway, we have one more holotape to locate at the East Boston Police Station, so we made our way there.

After fighting through some Gen 2 synths that were stationed around the building, we grabbed the holotape from inside a desk upstairs and made our way back to the BADTFL Regional Office, where it all started when Nick found the first piece of evidence.

"Finally, we have everything we need." After listening to the last holotape, he wrote down the number for that tape, and read aloud the digits. "1953728406. That's some real solid detective work. Now, let's get to the Andrew Station and bring him down."

We didn't bother stopping to rest this time. We were so close. We made it to Andrew Station quickly and quietly. There were raiders outside the station. We just snuck past them; they weren't paying attention to the shadows. We slipped inside the double doors and through the entrance.

"I would have never made it this far without you," Nick whispered.

"Don't thank me just yet," I whispered back. "We still have to make it out alive."

Further down the stairs, I could tell that the raiders had set up their own bunker of sorts all throughout the station. They had wooden walls, ramps, tires, oil lamps, and turrets scattered throughout the main hall, stairways, and railroads. The abandoned rail cars were used as bed houses.

After we wasted the raiders, it was safe to say that Eddie Winter's vault was untouched. When we finally found it in the lower levels, Nick couldn't get to the keypad soon enough. He wasted no time in keying in the code.

The door creeked open, and a wave of stagnant air rushed over us. It was stagnant, yes, but almost . . . fresh. Not as static-y as the irradiated air of the Commonwealth.

Everything happened so fast after that. The door swung open, a ghoul stood on the other side, and we raised our weapons to him. His face looked shocked. He looked well-fed, not like the scrawny ghouls that I come across in the wastes who have to forage scavenge their own food.

"The fuck?!" he shouted with wide eyes.

We encouched on his space slowly and cautiously.

"Who the fuck are you?" He backed away from us and almost knocked over the dresser behind him.

I snickered. "Oh, come on, Eddie. It's me! Your old pal, Marty McFuckYourself."

"After all this time, the first person that walks through my door is a wise-ass . . ." He looked me up and down. "Well, you are easy on the eyes, so that's something."

All humor left my face. "Seriously, go fuck yourself."

He looked from me, to Nick, to me again. "How the hell did you . . .? No. No way. Not after all this time. Don't tell me you actually cracked my code. In the holotapes? Ha ha ha ha ha! Well, hey, it's only been . . . what? Two-hundred years? Ha ha ha ha ha." He crossed his arms. "Well, look, I'm not sure what you thought you'd find . . . gold, jewels, the secrets of the universe. But you get me. One guy. A 'ghoul,' I guess you'd call me. Just living. Surviving. And what I got, you can't have."

"We don't want what you have," Nick said with low voice.

"It don't matter. That code? It was a joke. I just wanted to prove how dumb those feds were. Turns out, pretty dumb. So take your asses someplace else."

"I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for," said Nick. He moved in front of me, his gun still drawn.

"Yeah? And what's that?" Eddie's cockiness slowly disappeared, and a look of curiosity replaced it. "And who are you, huh? You look kinda familiar. But . . . what are you, some kinda robot? Is that what it's like out there now? A world of robot overlords? I knew it."

"The name's Valentine. Nick Valentine. Remember me?"

"Valentine? The cop?" He scratched his chin. "Is that who you're supposed to be? Sorry, pal, but you ain't Nick Valentine. You're just some kind of . . . machine."

"Believe it, Eddie," I chimed in. "This _is_ Nick Valentine."

"You killed my fiance," said Nick. Jennifer Lands. There are some crimes even you can't get away with, Winter." He poised his gun to eye level with Eddie's face.

"Your fiance?" Eddie didn't even blink. "You mean Valentine's fiance. Pretty girl. A shame that happened to her. But hey, you . . . or, you know . . . the real Valentine. He should have backed off when he had the chance." He shook his head. "But what gives, robot man? Why do you even care? Some girl gets whacked two-hundred years ago, and you come into _my_ home, acting like a hard guy?" He looked Nick up and down one more time, taking in all his robotic features. His glowing yellow eyes, his metal skeleton clearly exposed through the missing synthetic flesh on his hand, the tatters and tears in his face. "Christ, look at you. You're not even alive."

Nick never backed down. Instead, he grimaced and growled the words, "Then I guess I'm in good company." And without hesitation, pulled his trigger, forever ending the reign of the mob boss.

We sat on the couch of Eddie's livingroom. Nick's head was in his hands. I rubbed his back, though I wasn't sure if he could feel it. I knew that he appreciated the gesture though. This man didn't know whether he was happy or sad. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he wasn't saying anything.

I dug a cigarette out of his pocket and lit one for him. "Here. You look like you need this."

He looked up and sighed. I put the cigarette to his lips, and it took it's usual perch.

"You okay, Nick?"

"Yeah . . . I will be. I just thought that maybe I would forget those memories of Nick's if I just . . ." He chuckled without humor. "I guess it was too much to hope for."

"Justice was served. That's something to be happy about."

"I suppose so."

After a few more moments of silence, Nick smoked his cigarette without complaints. He put out the butt in the ashtray on the coffee table and we proceeded to search the place for whatever we could find. I cracked open his safe and looted all the ammo there and a holotape labled "To Claire." I went through his cabinets and took what was left of his prewar food. Dandy Boy Apples, Nuka-Cola, Cram, purified water, Gwinnett Stout, anything I could find. It all went in my bag until I couldn't handle the weight anymore. It was all going back to my community in Sanctuary to feed the people that were still arriving there.

"We're done here," said Nick after pocketing a case of vintage cigars. "There's just . . . one more thing I've gotta do. I . . . wouldn't mind the company if you wanted to tag along."

"If we're still not done, I'll go with you. I'm seeing this through to the end."

"You're one in a million, kid."

He led me back out of the building through the ladder at the back. It led to a hatch in the floor of the old sub shop that Nick mentioned before. We walked a short distance, and he stopped at the road by the river.

"This won't take long," he said softly. He looked at the pavement there. "This is it."

"What is it?"

"In this spot, two-hundred years ago, one of Eddie's boys put a bullet in Jenny Land's back. Now Eddie's as dead as Jenny . . . and Nick. And I . . . am at a loss. I guess I just need some time to process all this. You mind if we get out of here? Er, that is, if you're still interested in travelling together. Wouldn't blame you if you wanted some time on your own after all this."

I shrugged. "Do you still want to travel with me?"

"I think I could suffer through it," he grinned.

"Of course. Let's do it."

"Glad to hear it. Let's go. And hey . . . thanks."

I didn't know if he could feel it or not, but I pulled him into a hug. A tight, sincere hug.

Nick chuckled as he pulled away. "You know, it's a good thing I didn't try to hug those Brotherhood guys back at the police station. They're not known for embracing new technology with open arms."

I laughed. "Nick, you're a card."

"I try. It beats your lousy, smartass remarks."

We made it back to Diamond City. Ellie hugged us both, frantic and concerned. We were beat up and battered and dirty. She wanted all the details.

"I'm just glad you two made it back safe and sound. You should get some rest."

I took her advice. I was beat. I slept all night without trouble. The next day, I realized I slept past lunch time. I took my trench coat and hat with me and did a round or two around town with Nick.

He put out another cigarette on the railing of an upper stands ramp overlooking the city. We had been watching from above for some time. The cool breeze made our trench coats and the brims of our hats faulter in the wind. "You know, I've been thinking about how things went down with Winter. I never properly thanked you for that."

"Sure you did. You said 'thanks.' And we hugged. And, yeah."

He just eyed me and shook his head.

"Heh. I'm glad I could help."

"You don't know the half of it. Winter was it, the only reminder left of the original Nick Valentine. The last proof outside of some long lost Institute archive I was ever just a mechanical copy of some cop from a bygone era. I'm not sure how to feel."

"Don't you see, Nick? You're finally free. There is no 'other Nick' anymore. Just you."

"I wish it was that easy. But it's not. Because I _was_ Nick Valentine. I had his memories, his fears, all that poor bastard's hopes. I remember getting a call from some lab in Cambridge to get that neurotrans-whatever. And the next thing I know, I'm in a trash heap, my family, my home, my entire life gone. Then I discover that all those things weren't even mine. Everything I ever was belonged to Nick. I'd hoped with Winter gone, the last hint of that old world snuffed out, I _could_ finally be free."

I frowned.

A long silence passed between us.

"But," he continued, "being out here with you, what I finally realized after all this time was that taking down Winter, it wasn't about Nick or Jenny or you or me. It was about justice, about doing what's right. And that act of goodness, that's ours. All the good we've done. That's ours and ours alone."

My frown melted away, hearing such praise come from him.

"And even if that's the only thing in this world that I can ever claim as mine, not Nick's, not the Institute's, but mine, then I can die happy. And none of it would have ever happened if it weren't for you. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to thank you for that."

"Nick, stop. You've thanked me enough. Besides, we're friends. It's what friends do."

"You can't stop being noble, now can you?"

I gave him a playful shove. "You'll never stop being Nick Valentine to me. And to these people, you're Nick Valentine. This Nick Valentine, not the Nick Valentine from a bygone era." I slipped my hat off my head. "And, honestly, it's been fun being detective with you. But I think I'm going to leave the detective work to you from now on."

He smiled and gave me a nod. "That's okay. You did good, kid. You did good."

I made plans to head back to Sanctuary that afternoon, before I remembered that I had promised Danse that I'd return. I didn't feel right leaving them out there like that, Brotherhood of Steel or not.

I wandered the city market for a while until it got dark again, then I returned to the Dugout and paid another ten caps to stay one more night. I remembered the holotape in my bag that I looted from Eddie's place, so I dug it out, placed it in my pipboy, and laid on my bed to listen to it.

 _"Claire, it's me. Eddie. It's been too long, I know. But I'm okay. We're okay. I know it's weird, me disappearing just when the heat died down. But there's a reason. What we talked about? It's happening, soon. Bombs, missiles, I don't know what. But the end is coming. I can't even tell you how much I paid my Army Intelligence friend for this info. So I guess me building that shelter was a smart idea after all, huh? But look, baby. There is . . . one more thing. The reason I haven't been around for a while. You know those idiot brothers at Wicked Shipping? The ones smuggling the radioactive material? I put the screws to 'em. Got some of the stuff. I've been working with this doctor in East Boston. Guy's a fucking genius. Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but he had this theory . . . The right kind of radiation exposure, at the right amounts, it could change human cells. Mutate them. Baby . . . I could live forever. Yeah, I know, it could kill me. But I'm willing to chance it. But I can't risk losing you. So I'm the guinea pig. I've been getting . . . treatments. But don't worry, I'm fine. More than fine. I feel great. Amazing, even. I think this crazy shit's really working. Eventually, this war will blow over. And when it does, I'm gonna walk out into Boston and pick up where I left off. I'm gonna own the future. I'm assuming you'll be dead by then, of course, but let's not dwell on the negative. So look. You come to the sub shop tomorrow night. You and I will go into the shelter together, seal it up, and wait for the big kaboom. Just, ahh . . . might wanna prepare yourself a little. Mentally and such . . . I look a little different now. But love is only skin deep, right?"_

And as I took the tape out of my pipboy and threw it in the nearby trash can, so ended the legacy of Edward L. "Eddie" Winter.


End file.
